CURRENT ISSUE - 3.1
WRITE THE WORLD WEBSITE
A TAKEN SEAT AT AN EMPTY TABLE
by AMALIA COSTA (United Kingdom)
We act like we're pleasantly thrust together instead of a family bound by grief and love.
THE FLOATING ANCHOR
by AILEEN BAK (Australia)
As a Haenyeo, a Korean sea-woman, her day was just beginning, even before the sun rose in the bitter oceanic cold to ready herself to dive for her day's catch.
BUENA VISTA SOCIAL CLUB
by TULA SINGER (Cuba)
The embassy called and approved our request to leave the country. So we packed our clothes and a couple of other essentials, leaving the rest behind.
by KOBY CHEN (Canada)
When my mother and father had left for the west, they brought few things with them.
MY DAD AND I
by TUNA SAGDAN (Turkey)
As a child, my relationship with my dad was very straightforward. I'd ask him for something and he'd say "yes" or "no."
MEMORIES THAT NEVER HAPPENED
by ARI (United States)
In the jungles of Aklan stands a statue of a man I've never met.
Stands a monument to a face I've never seen.
RED AND GOLD
by VIVIAN ZHI (Canada)
My words can be a sense of comfort, a feeling of being understood, a thought, an awakening.
by ANNIE KIRKPATRICK (United States)
Rice piled on my plate like a cold white ant bed. Mom adjusted her glasses again.
by ANYA WILSON (Ireland)
When I arrive home, there are men outside our cottage. But these are not my dada's friends.
by LYAT MELESE (United States)
Change is unexpected.
Like the day I was told we were moving to America.
THE RAIN AND THE REVERIE
My mother came into the kitchen with a blank face. "We're leaving," she said. "We're going to move in with Ahmad in New York."
MY PARENTS CONSIDER WHAT THEY'LL DO WITH THEIR REMAINS
by OTTAVIA PALUCH (Canada)
But not as quickly as water.